


Gotta Get Wet

by HomeIsSpelledKAZ2Y5



Series: Hands, Eyes, Hearts [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, One Shot, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomeIsSpelledKAZ2Y5/pseuds/HomeIsSpelledKAZ2Y5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tenth in my drabble collection. One-shot. <i>Time stands still; Castiel's lip caught on Dean's, and the fall of the water droplets slowing to a halt.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Gotta Get Wet

**Author's Note:**

> I got yelled at for the previous drabble, so this happened.
> 
> I took a little liberty with the layout of the bunker bathroom, since from the look of Meta Fiction caps, there aren't any stalls. Stalls made this easier. For any of you who care (and I love you for it, I do) this is set in an alternate season 9 wherein when Cas got back to the bunker, he got to stay.

Castiel blinks awake. Sleep comes easier now, but the grogginess when he transitions back to consciousness is yet another part of being mortal that he could do without.

It does help that the bed he's in is very comfortable -- that he's  _in_ a bed. In a  _room_ , one that he doesn't have to share with anyone. This bunker that the Winchesters found has so many rooms, and Dean was vague when he waved down the hall and said, with his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck, that Castiel should pick one. Dean's room is on this hallway. Sam's is around the corner. Even with permanence, and the new issues that have arisen, the brothers never stray far from one another.

Castiel chose a room from the three between theirs. He feels safer for it.

There's nothing on his walls yet to study, so he traces the shadows across his ceiling, gradually coming more and more awake. There's a sliver of light cast from beneath his door, and it ripples when (judging from the direction of movement) Sam leaves his room. Dean is probably already in the kitchen, cooking.

Castiel never knew that Dean liked to cook, probably because there was never any opportunity for this information to surface. The only kitchen he'd ever seen Dean  _near_ was in the old house, where Bobby lived, and while there are memories of drink and unrest and slamming Dean up against the sink, there are none of food. Castiel had no need of food then, and barely any concept of it.

His mind derails into sinful, covetous thoughts of cheeseburgers. Could he ask Dean to make those--?

Lying there unmoving, he starts to feel restless and grungy in the clothes he wore for sleeping. Dean explained to him that this is normal,  _"nature's way of telling you it's time for a shower,"_ and then Dean went on to say that the inventions that sent hot water through the building at such pressure were  _"just fucking awesome"_.

Castiel would have to agree. In fact, he finds that he is looking forward to his next shower.

Swinging his cumbersome legs out of the bed -- moving was never such an issue, like most things, when he had his grace -- he pads barefoot down the hall to the communal bathroom.

It's silent. Neither Winchester is there -- they're probably eating breakfast. Castiel's stomach gurgles, reminding him that breakfast is now one more thing he can't live without. He pulls off his clothes, still warm and smelling of his body, and drops them by the door. As he passes the row of mirrors, he sees his skin ripple past, all pale and tattooed. Older. Hardened by experience. So different from the way it looked when Jimmy Novak first said,  _"Yes."_

Castiel promised the man he wouldn't age. He promised so many things. Those promises weigh upon the shoulders that have been his alone to inhabit for some years now, because even though Jimmy is at peace... he deserved better; from the world, and from Castiel.

Briefly, Castiel wonders whether this propensity for guilt is a generic human condition, or if he learned it somewhere along the way. It's a buzz in his mind, a stone atop his heart. It aches.

The water in the shower heats up very quickly, white noise and steam. Castiel steps in, lets it strike his skin, and groans. It feels so, very good. Dean was right, using those words that first confused Castiel because of the etymological evolution he'd missed: this shower is truly  _fucking awesome_.

"Uh... Cas?"

A shock seizes his limbs, slamming his heart against his rib cage. Another thing about being mortal that's taken some getting used to. Dean can catch  _him_ unawares. Castiel laughs silently at memories, and says, "We should put a bell on you, Dean."

A pause. "Oh, ha ha." Castiel knows Dean remembers. "You just get in?"

"Yes," Castiel replies. "I just woke up."

"Cool." Another pause, a little longer. "I made eggs and sausage, you might wanna hurry up before Sammy eats 'em all."

Fainter, Sam's voice from the hall: "I left him plenty. Are you going in or not?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Dean hisses, his voice a slightly higher pitch. This is incongruous to Castiel. There are plenty of shower stalls, and why should it matter whether Dean comes in and takes one right this moment?

"The water is fucking awesome, as you said," he calls, hoping to help settle the matter.

When Dean replies, his voice is closer, echoing against the tile. "So is hearing you swear."

"Fuck," Castiel says again, laughing.

Dean laughs with him. It's a beautiful sound.

"Ah, Cas," Dean says, sighing happily. "Glad to have you back, buddy."

He sounds very close, like he's right outside, so Castiel shoves open the curtain to his cubicle so he can grin at Dean. The outside air is cold, and steam billows out. Castiel is dripping all over the place, making the floor outside his cubicle slick and dangerous, maybe that's why Dean's eyes have gone so wide. His face, so white. He's leaning against the wall, he hasn't undressed yet, and he is so, very still.

 _He's barefoot_ , Castiel notices.  _He's worried he'll slip_.

"I am glad to be here," Castiel says sincerely, moving back into the stall, holding the curtain open. "No matter what happens, being with you has always felt  _real_ to me."

Dean's eyes have darted away, down to the floor. He's shifting his weight almost imperceptibly from foot to foot. He looks nervous.

"I won't use all of the hot water, Dean," Castiel chides gently.

"What?" Dean looks up at him, startled, and his eyes widen further before he ducks his head back down. "No, it's. It's fine, Cas. Use, uh. All the hot water you want." He grimaces briefly. "I gotta go, uh. Do. Something."

He turns quickly, like he's fleeing something he can't fight.

Castiel frowns. "What about your shower?"

"It can wait!" Dean calls over his shoulder. He's already to the door.

Castiel steps away from the cubicle again, the chill tickling all over his skin and leaving small bumps in its wake.  _Goosebumps_ , Sam told him once.  _Means you're cold, or afraid_.

Well, he's not afraid of Dean.

"Dean," he says. It comes out clipped, tremulous. Chilled. He's halfway past the mirrors and his arms come up to hug around his chest, rubbing at themselves;  _a subconscious reaction to a dramatic decrease in temperature_ , his mind parrots at him. His reflection in the mirrors moves with him. It's distracting.  _Humans have a much greater difficulty compartmentalizing stimuli_ , he grumbles to himself, rubbing harder.

Dean has stopped just outside the door. Castiel stands there, dripping and shivering, trying not to notice himself in the corner of his eye.

After a beat Dean says, gruffly, "You wanna get back under the water. You'll catch your death."

"I cannot catch Death," Castiel says. His teeth have begun to clack together in a flurry, making it difficult to form words. "Even if I had use of my wings, he is swifter than any of us."

Dean turns, and his face performs a series of gymnastics that ultimately read as  _oh, you are hopeless, aren't you?_

"Cas," he says, gentle and a little pleading, "you gotta keep warm now, buddy." He grabs a towel from the hooks on the wall and strides forward, throwing it around Castiel's shoulders and tugging him in with it, pulling it closed between them. It's a very large towel ( _it must be Sam's,_ Castiel thinks) and it drapes down in a pale likeness of his trench coat. It's strange, the similarities and dissimilarities between the two, terry cloth rubbing oddly at his skin -- and also between this and all the other times he and Dean have stood this closely. He can count Dean's freckles again. With a thrill, Castiel focuses on them and realizes that he no longer pulls the number in from just a glance. He'll have to count them  _manually_.

"Dean, your --" he begins, but Dean is muttering, "Gotta stay warm, Cas," and hauling him into a tight embrace; "-- freckles," Castiel says, muffled against Dean's neck. His entire front is  _warm_.

He can feel so much.

There's the most comforting heat not only spreading from the front of him into his very core, but from the soles of his feet and the palms of his hands and his chest and scalp and groin. Dean is only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, his bare feet brushing against Castiel's when he moves and places one in between. The shower is still on, the air becoming more and more humid, and a fine sheen of sweat stands out on Dean's skin, rubs on to Castiel's face where he's tucked against Dean's neck. Castiel licks his lips unconsciously. He tastes salt.

Dean shudders. He must be cold, too.

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean and completes the gesture, pulling him closer, the zipper seam of Dean's jeans digging in to his crotch. It might be uncomfortable were that area not so interested in the proceedings, swelling and sending pleasurable signals throughout Castiel's entire body. Dean's hands are rubbing up and down his back through the towel, and Castiel is very curious to know what they would feel like rubbing somewhere else.

He draws in a breath to ask, purely objectively, what  _Dean_ thinks it feels like when someone rubs him there.

Once more, Dean cuts him off. It doesn't even seem like Dean realizes it's happening. He says, in a groan of a voice, "You gotta finish up," and he's spinning Castiel with hands on his arms, steering him to the cubicle. Bundling him inside, towel and all.

Once more, Dean flees.

 _"Dean,"_ Castiel says, shocked. His voice is even deeper than it already was, he marvels, dropping the towel from his shoulders as it soaks. "Dean," he says again, just to hear and taste the differences that arousal has wrought in the word.

"Yeah, Cas?" Dean's voice is also deeper, rougher, entwined with some kind of yearning and what might be a touch of fear. Acutely, Castiel wants to hear it again.

"Come back," he says simply. Honestly. He stands beneath the spray and tips his head around, letting the water run over his skin, now chilled and heated and energized by something else entirely. His cock is standing out, fully erect for the first time since -- since the time he doesn't like to think about, and only does so now with a flush of shame that trickles at odds with everything else he's feeling.

He must have a terrible look on his face when Dean steps up to the cubicle, because for a fleeting instant Dean looks like he's been slapped.

"What's up?" he asks Castiel, forced calm.

Castiel doesn't know how to ask him to please not do that --  _you're not always the reason someone looks sad, Dean_  -- so he hurries forward and kisses Dean, instead.

Dean tastes like breakfast and man and himself, and the shudder that ripples through his entire frame when their lips collide is just as delicious to Castiel. Dean isn't cold, he  _wants_. Castiel tilts his head, deepening the kiss. Dean's hands lurch their way up to touch him almost reverentially, finding him gently and then clinging on. A moan escapes Dean. He presses in closer.

Castiel draws him beneath the spray.

"Ah!" The noise Dean makes is shocked, but distracted and full of heat. He doesn't seem to care that he's getting wet, his hair plastering to his head, eyes closed to the water as he kisses Castiel again and again. His clothes are soaking through, squishing beneath Castiel's fingertips. Castiel briefly wishes that he could spirit them away, but he's mortal now. He gets to do it  _the old-fashioned way,_ as Dean might say. His fingertips quest for and find the hem of Dean's t-shirt, tickling along Dean's belly, the defined ridge of his hip.

Dean's breath catches. Time stands still; Castiel's lip caught on Dean's, and the fall of the water droplets slowing to a halt.

It jump-starts again with a flurry of movement through spray and steam, hands tearing clothes from Dean, pressing Castiel up against the tiled wall. Castiel moans in surprise and pleasure when their bodies align, Dean kicking his jeans away and rolling up against Castiel in an expert, sinuous grind. He does it again, and again, rutting smoothly into Castiel with rhythm, heat,  _Dean;_ Castiel can't handle the sensory overload. He's grasping at the slick wall over his head, Dean's waist, Dean's shoulder, panting out choking sounds whenever their bodies mold so firmly together.

Dean's dick is just as interested as his, growing full and fat where it's pressed between them. The friction with any part of Dean's skin is intense, but when his erection slides against Castiel's, a frisson of  _yes, yes, yes_ races its way through Castiel's veins. Dean clutches him tighter, nosing into the wet hair on the side of his head. Nipping at his ear. Suckling the lobe.

"Cas," Dean growls into his neck, "I wanna fuck you."

" _Oh_ ," Castiel moans, gut-struck with pleasure, every bit of him below the waist clenching. His toes curl. "I think I'd like that."

"Yeah?" Dean sounds honestly surprised, like he has no idea that Castiel was always meant to be his.

It was sealed when Castiel grasped him in Hell. Castiel knew that no matter what came between them, he would always be  _something_ to Dean. Protector, mediator, friend. More. He'd known for a long time that Dean felt some way in return, but that Dean's self-deprecation and distractions and the way he'd been raised would all hold him back. A few times Castiel had despaired, thinking he or Dean were about to die before they could realize these things on a mortal plane. It all seemed so insignificant in Heaven -- or maybe that was just one more thing to blame Naomi for ruining.

"Yes," Castiel says firmly, shaking himself back to the here and now.  _I am yours, Dean, as you are mine_.

"Okay," Dean says, sounding genuinely pleased, teeth nipping gently at Castiel's neck between his words, "and next time, you. You can." His breath rushes out into the wet and skin, hitching as it goes.

Castiel smiles a secret, amazed little smile against the short bristles of Dean's hair. Not only is Dean thinking of doing this again, with  _him_ , but he'd let Castiel do  _that_. After so long and knowing Dean so well, he doesn't feel worthy. "All right," he says. "I'd like that, too."

He can only whine when Dean's hand finds his cock.

The water is slick but rough, Dean's gun calluses more so, sliding over Castiel's flesh with skill and intent. Dean knows what he's doing. He strokes, teases Castiel until he's harder than he's ever been, his cock unyielding in Dean's grasp. Castiel is panting, sucking in water drops with every gasping breath, lacking the oxygen or coherent thought to make any sounds resembling English words. He rubs his face into the skin where Dean's neck meets his shoulder. He grasps at Dean tighter when he realizes that Dean's other hand is moving around,  _lower --_

"Dean!" he cries, spreading his legs wider, giving Dean all the access he can without falling over.

Dean's done this before, too. He pets over Castiel's hole with the pad of his finger, teasing, chuckling and kissing Castiel when the pucker spasms. "You gotta relax," he says, like he's not wet and naked and sending Castiel into some mindless realm of pleasure with all the ways they're touching.

The look Castiel shoots him, when he draws back a little, must say all of that exceedingly clearly. Dean barks out a laugh and shakes his head.

"Seriously," he says.  _"Relax,"_ he whispers.

Those sweet, damp lips claim Castiel's again.

Between the kisses, the hand on his aching cock, and the finger rubbing over his hole, Castiel is not going to last. He feels his orgasm building like a volatile chemical reaction, pulling every bit of him skyward, so much like spreading his wings that the déjà vu just adds to his pleasure.  _"Ah, ah, ah_  -- _"_ he's chanting in Dean's ear, and as though from very far away he hears Dean answering, muttering, "Yeah, that's it; take the edge off, baby, I got you --"

All Castiel can do is scream into Dean's neck, and come.

It's the best orgasm he's ever had.

Every inch of him locks up, seizing in paroxysmal ecstasy. He's making the most ridiculous noises of release, spilling himself over Dean's hand and Dean's cock, rubbing up alongside his. Dean groans in satisfaction against his lips, this kiss more like a smearing of mouths.

"God, you're hot," Dean murmurs.

Castiel can only hum a reply. He can barely stand, sagging in Dean's arms.

"Now..." Dean breathes. His finger moves, and Castiel's body opens for him.

There's something slick on his finger. Soap? There's a slight sting of discomfort on the tender skin, different from that of the stretch, but it's soon swallowed up by the feeling of being so  _full_. Castiel knows that's only the tip of Dean's finger, but it feels enormous.

Inexplicably, his cock is taking renewed interest, far sooner than it ever has.  _It must be Dean_ , Castiel tells himself. He feels so good, he's stoned with it. Floating removed, experiencing Dean's stimuli from multiple points of perspective at once.

The finger pauses just inside him.

"You good?" Dean asks. His voice is steady, but Castiel has studied every variation of that wavelength. Dean is holding himself taut, trying to remain still for Castiel's sake.

Castiel smiles. "I am."

Dean relaxes, pressing a little more firmly into Castiel's body, holding Castiel a little more securely against the wall. His finger presses in deeper, filling even more.

It begins to pull out and it feels  _miles long_. Castiel isn't sure what to make of that sensation, but Dean pushes the finger back in and then Castiel no longer has to wonder what being fucked feels like. He remembers what it felt like to have rel-- to  _fuck_ April, his cock sheathed in wet heat that clutched at him as he drove in and out. This is what that must have felt like for her, to some extent.

Castiel isn't sure which sensation he likes better. They're both fascinating.

Dean is pressing in deeper with each stroke, now. Like he's reaching for something. He wiggles the finger around;  _stretching me_ , Castiel realizes.  _Getting me ready for his cock_. Just thinking that thought in its entirety drives Castiel's hips forward and his cock into Dean's pelvic region, twitching with intent. Immediately he has to move backward again, seeking Dean's finger, needing it deeper. He ruts forward, back, forward again and before he knows it, he's fucking himself between two points of Dean, rubbing their cocks together when he grabs at Dean's, hoping to distract him and make this preparation go faster.

No such luck. Dean laughs softly, holding him in strong, wet arms. Stilling him. "Gotta be patient."

"So many things I have to do," Castiel grumbles. "Be warm,  _relax_." His hips are still moving subtly, as subtly as his fingers as they learn the thin skin of Dean's cock, the pulse of his veins, the prickle of shorn hair at the base and on his balls. "Have  _patience_."

Dean is having trouble keeping his breathing or his finger steady. Castiel counts this as a victory.

Then, another fingertip prods at his entrance. When Dean's first finger pulls out, the second joins it on the way back in, and keeps going. It's slick, but it's  _big --_  Castiel moans raggedly, his grip on their cocks falling slack. If he thought he was full before --

"Mm," Dean hums. "You're so tight. You done this before?"

"No," Castiel pants, somewhat affronted. "You are the first."

"Wow, I --?" Dean's voice cracks. "No," he coughs, "I mean -- to yourself, Cas. Do you ever fuck yourself?"

Castiel gives himself a headache briefly trying to imagine how  _that_ would be possible.

"With your fingers, you kook," Dean amends with a smile, touching the tip of his nose to Castiel's. His fingers have stilled, save for some slow, languid wriggling that is climbing up the nerves in Castiel's spine.

Shaking his head, Castiel darts in and captures a kiss. "It's never occurred to me as an option."

Dean laughs, the sound colored with nostalgia. "Yeah, it doesn't come natural if you've never seen it done."

 _He's seen more pornography than you even thought possible to exist_ , Castiel chides himself, when at first his morality is offended on a younger Dean's behalf.

"Once you find your hole, though," Dean continues. " _Man_." His tone is wistful, heated. "It's something else."

His fingers thrust in just a little deeper, pressing along Castiel's inner walls like they're searching -- for what, Castiel doesn't --

 _Oh, great skies above_.

Colors burst behind Castiel's vision, a sharp bite of pleasure rocketing straight up into his brain. "That good?" Dean asks, smug like he knows.  _He does. He knows so much_ , Castiel marvels, his body alight and clutching at Dean even as he thinks,  _Dean knows so much more than I ever will, for all that I do know_.

Dean's fingers roll over that spot again, and Castiel loses the ability to think at all.

He fucks his ass back on to Dean's fingers, quick and deep as he can, seeking more of  _that_ and of whatever Dean will give him. His cock is a burning brand along Dean's, his frantic movements playing a tremolo there, unmeasured but just as tense and a sizzle of pure feeling across sensitive flesh.

The water has gone lukewarm. He doesn't care.

"More," he gasps.

When Dean pulls his fingers all the way out instead, Castiel digs his nails into one perfectly freckled shoulder.

"Easy, babe," Dean groans, laughing, "I gotta slick up. We're jerry-rigging this as it is." He reaches for the liquid soap dispenser built into the shower wall. "You're not really supposed to use soap -- and now that you're not all mojo rising, we ought to be using a condom." He stops, and looks down at his soap-filled hand. "Actually, we really gotta be safer about this. Who knows where that Reaper chick got her kicks?" He's moving away. "And me, 'cos I  _feel_ clean, but that ain't a sure bet." He grins over his shoulder. "Just a sec, gorgeous."

Castiel feels very alone when Dean leaves the cubicle. His entrance twitches, wanting to be filled again, and his dick is so hard it's at a right angle, dripping into the shower spray.

Then Dean is back, showing Castiel a little square wrapper with a waggle of his eyebrows. He places it up on top of the tiled divider wall. "Don't worry," he says, gathering some more soap and siding back into Castiel's space. "Once we get us both tested, it'll be better."

Castiel blinks. This gets better?

Dean catches sight of his face. "Oh, a  _hell_ of a lot better," he says, sliding his soapy hand around down Castiel's hip. "For starters, wait 'til we get to a  _bed_."

There are three fingers pressing at Castiel's entrance. He fights against holding his breath, and focuses on opening himself to them. Dean presses them in, slowly but inexorably -- when he stops, knuckles flush against Castiel's ass, Castiel feels as though an eon has passed. His body clenches around the intrusion, both he and Dean letting out helpless noises when they feel it. Dean moves his hand a little bit, letting Castiel get used to the stretch, and Castiel wonders what that must feel like for Dean.

Castiel mostly just feels like he needs Dean's cock inside him, instead of fingers.  _Now_. The feeling ramps up in its intensity every time those fingers move. He's vibrating with it. His focus narrows.

"Dean," he begins. His voice is wrecked, dark and low, less a voice than  _need_ and what power he has left.

A shudder runs through Dean. "Just a minute, Cas," he says hoarsely, moving his fingers more quickly in a new, graceless fashion, scissoring all three. "Gotta -- gotta make sure --"

" _Dean_ ," Castiel says again, moving restlessly against him, "If you do not fuck me  _right this moment --_ _"_

" _Okay!_ Okay," Dean says, and he withdraws his fingers, tightening his grip on Castiel's ass cheek. He reaches up with his free hand and grapples for the condom packet, ripping it open with his teeth and then, impressively, rolling it on to his dick one-handed. It's like he can't bear to move any further away than he has to. Castiel can relate.

"Okay," Dean says again when he's situated, that hand finding Castiel's waist. "How you wanna do this?"

Castiel catches his gaze, so very green, framed by those long, wet lashes. With little effort, he raises up and hooks one of his legs around Dean's waist. Dean's cock slides back between them, beneath Castiel's balls already drawn up and ready, to where Castiel needs it most.

"God _damn_ ," Dean breathes.

"Do not blaspheme," Castiel says, but it's a token protest. Every molecule of him, both physical and otherwise, is focused on Dean lifting him further, lining him up, and then Dean is pressing his cock to Castiel's hole.

He stops.

 _He's waiting for permission_.

"Dean, please," Castiel moans. "Please, I want you, I --"

With a throaty whine, Dean inches his hips forward, and the head of his cock slides in.

"Ah!" Castiel says, " _ah_ ," because there's nothing else he can say. Dean's cock is hotter than his fingers; much, much larger, and somehow the way it's shaped and the way Dean moves altogether makes this the best, most fulfilling thing that Castiel has ever experienced. He feels  _complete_. He's sure, as sure as he's overwhelmed, that most of that is only because this is Dean fucking him.

 _Dean_ is fucking him.  _Dean's_ cock pressing inward, little rolls of  _Dean's_ hips, filling Castiel past the point of caring how uncomfortable the stretch is and driving the air slowly, irredeemably from his lungs.

Dean's hip bones press into Castiel's ass. Castiel realizes with a start that he's been holding his breath, and lets it out in a shaky rush. Dean's cock is fully sheathed inside him, twitching; Dean's chest heaves against his, arms corded and tense, Dean's forehead resting on Castiel's chest. Hot breath puffs against wet skin.

For several pounding heartbeats, all they do is breathe.

Then Castiel clenches, thrusts, and impales himself even further --

Dean gasps, moaning like he's been gutted. His hips drive so sharply into Castiel that there's a smack when they collide. " _Cas_ ," he says.

Castiel finds his lips.

They kiss, and Dean picks up the pace, his cock moving slick-and-drag inside of Castiel. The burn and the stretch just add to it, another dimension of  _good_ that Castiel never knew he could feel. It's funny, he's bent up and squashed against the wall, the water pouring over them has gone cold, but Dean is grunting as he works and all that skin on display -- his freckles standing out, gold flakes and dust -- the way his muscles bunch and flex when Castiel grasps at him and cries out soundlessly for him to  _move, more; please, Dean_  --

Dean sways back and then rocks forward, shoving him harder into the wall. " _Yeah_ ," is the shape of the word he moans into Castiel's neck when he buries his face there again. The rhythm speeds, doubles, Dean's hips slapping and smacking into Castiel with the force of his thrusts. Short, sharp bursts of energy, they tear Castiel apart and slam him back together again, and every time Dean strikes that spot inside of him, Castiel sees the stars the way he once did. The universe unfolds before him.

It's all so beautiful.

" _Cas_ ," Dean keens, "Cas, baby, I'm gonna come."

 _"Ahh, yes,"_ Castiel says, urging. "Come inside me." He wants to feel it. "Dean, you're so -- oh, please,  _come inside me,"_ he whispers, lips catching tacky on Dean's earlobe.

High-voiced and stricken, Dean does as he's asked.

His cock swells impossibly larger inside Castiel, stretching further than Castiel thought possible and filling space he thought had been filled. Dean punctuates his thrusts with helpless noises, punching his orgasm in as deep as he's able. Now that the water is cold, Castiel can feel the warmth of Dean filling the condom and imagines that there's nothing in the way of it, just a slick transfer of heat from Dean's body to his.

Dean groans, sounding undone and satisfied.

When he moves, he staggers, and lets Castiel down as gently as he can. His softening cock slips out. He has to brace himself with an arm alongside Castiel, and Castiel presses kisses up the wet length of it. He laughs along with Dean in the incredulous sweep of the moment.

His cock is still rock-hard, but the rest of him feels relatively sated. He's not going to ask for anything. Not when Dean has given him so much. Castiel's limbs feel so heavy. He's thinking about eschewing breakfast, even though Dean made it, and climbing back into bed --

Dean is looking down.

"Hm," he says thoughtfully. He removes the condom and ties it in a knot, tossing it aside. "That looks painful, Cas," he says, teasing and low.

Fingers toy up along Castiel's length, and Castiel's head tips back of its own accord. He's still so  _sensitive_.

"Dean," he says, "you don't have to-- _aahhh_ ," he warbles off, because Dean just sank fluidly to his knees and now he's mouthing his way up Castiel's cock. It feels incredible, so  _warm_ as Dean moves over him, lips and mouth and tongue all velveteen and teasing. Memories flash and once again, albeit unhappily, Castiel compares this to the only other sexual encounter that he's had. April hadn't done this, she hadn't taken the time, but the clutch of Dean's mouth and the subtle suction he's using do remind Castiel of what it was like to be buried deep in someone. Not for the first time, he's wondering how Dean's body would feel around his cock -- this is just Dean's  _mouth_.

Castiel comes to racing thoughts of all the things he'd like to do to Dean, given the chance. He's blind with it. Dean swallows every drop, suckles him through it, until Castiel is sagging at the knees and has to collapse against the wall. Dean, grinning down at him, leans to the side to collect some water in his mouth and then shoots it at Castiel in a little stream.

Castiel closes his eyes to the water, and laughs.

He hears Dean reach up to turn off the shower, and when it stops the chill steals in immediately. Castiel lets Dean find his hand and tug him up with his eyes still closed. Dean wraps Castiel in his arms, and hauls him out of the stall to more towels. He's rubbing one through Castiel's hair when Castiel opens his eyes again.

"Dean," he says.

To his immense delight Dean looks directly at him right away, no avoidance, his face flushed with exertion and those intensely green eyes still dilated with pleasure. "Yeah, Cas?"

Castiel doesn't even know what he wants to say. He's having trouble qualifying all this overwhelming emotion. He thinks he's got it, though -- he would not have been able to name this feeling when he grasped Dean in perdition, but now:

He tries it out. "I love you."

Dean reacts with dazzling, sheer disbelief, gasping softly like he's completely unaware that his soul and tribulations have given Castiel new life, new  _purpose_ , and have done so again and again. Castiel's eyes dart over Dean's face, drinking him in, watching a fine flush settle beneath all those wonderful, now innumerable freckles.

The feeling swells in his chest when Dean's eyes begin to shimmer, lips trembling up into a smile.

 _"Cas,"_ he says, and kisses him.

If Castiel had his grace, he knows he'd be able to hear those words in return from Dean's soul. Now, though, he'll just have to do as humans do and trust that Dean is saying them like this.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://www.wattpad.com/138741310-hands-eyes-hearts-a-collection-of-supernatural).
> 
> Please leave kudos if you ♥ it.


End file.
